Page 7 of When a Soul Cries

Ten minutes later, I stood outside with my suitcase beside me and nowhere to go.

The porch light went off.

Then I heard the lock turn.

I sat on the curb and pulled out my phone. The screen was cracked, and my battery was down to eight percent.

There was only one person I could call.

Zari answered on the second ring.

“Sol?”

The moment I heard her voice, everything inside me broke.

I tried to explain, but the only sounds that came out were broken breaths and sobs.

“Slow down,” she said. “Where are you?”

“She put me out.”

“Who put you out?”

“My aunt.” I wiped my face with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “I told her what Mack did to me, and she slapped me. She said I was lying.”

Zari became quiet.

Not the kind of silence that came from disbelief.

The kind that came right before anger.

“Where are you right now?”

“Outside her house.”

“Do you have your things?”

“One suitcase.”

“How much money do you have?”

I looked inside my wallet. “Thirty-seven dollars.”

“All right. Listen to me carefully. I need you to get somewhere safe until morning. A police station, a hospital—somewhere with people and cameras. Send me your exact location.”

“Zari, I don’t know what to do.”

“Yes, you do. You’re going to listen to me.”

Her voice softened.

“I got you, Sol.”

I closed my eyes as fresh tears spilled down my face.

“You don’t even know me for real.”

“Yes, I do,” she answered. “I know you better than those people inside that house. Send me your location.”